gathered nothing
intelligible from the impassioned apostrophe of his excited little friend;
but, by degrees, there dawned upon him some faint gleam of what its
meaning might be. "The sec'tary!" That was the quaint term by which Tommy
was wont to designate Miss Owen. But their conversation had been drifting
in the direction of his little lost Marian. Why, then, should Miss Owen
have been in Tommy's mind? Ah, he saw how it was! His humble friend had
perceived that Miss Owen was a dear, good girl; and he had noticed her
evident attachment to him--"Cobbler" Horn, and his fondness for her, and
no doubt the little man had meant to suggest that she should take the
place of the lost child. It was characteristic of his humble friend that
he should seek, by such a hint, to point out a course which, no doubt,
seemed to him, likely to afford satisfaction to all concerned; and
"Cobbler" Horn could not help admiring the delicacy with which it had been
done.

"The Golden Shoemaker" was quite persuaded that he had hit upon the right
interpretation of the little huckster's words; and he was not altogether
displeased with the suggestion he supposed them to convey. Of course
Marian would ultimately come back; and no one else could be permitted
permanently to occupy her place. But there was no reason why he should not
let his young secretary take, for the time being, as far as possible, the
place which would have been filled by his lost child. In fact, Miss Owen
was almost like a daughter to him already; and he was learning to love her
as such. Well, he would adopt the suggestion of his little friend. His
secretary should fill, for the time, the vacant place in his life. Yet he
would never leave off loving his precious Marian; and her own share of
love, which could never be given to another, must be reserved for her
against her return, when he would have two daughters instead of one.

Thus mused "the Golden Shoemaker," until, suddenly recollecting himself,
he started up. He had promised to visit one of his former neighbours, who
was sick, and it was already past the time at which the visit should have
been made. He hastily threw off his leathern apron, and put on his coat
and hat. At the same moment, he observed that heavy rain was beating
against the window. It was now early summer; and, misled by the fair face
of the sky, he had left home without an umbrella. What was he to do? He
passed into the kitchen, and opening the front door, sto